


A Guide to Romance for the Average Witch

by GayFrankensteinsMonster



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Some people are witches and that's okay, Nonbinary Character, Other, Schizophrenic character, Slow Romance, Trans Female Character, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8194214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayFrankensteinsMonster/pseuds/GayFrankensteinsMonster
Summary: Wash knows there's some stuff out there in the woods. She's seen it. She's got pictures. She's going to prove that there's some fucked-up cryptozoology stuff out there, right in her damn backyard.Locus knows that there's some stuff out there in the woods. Locus IS the stuff out there in the woods.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i needed a break from TFCC and. well. lately i've been invested in trans lady wash, and locus, and witchcraft.  
> as a practicing witch i can tell you that all the witchcraft talked about in here is completely, 100% sound and something i would do in my own home. anything about these characters that seems "weird" is something that i will do, would do, or currently do. i am not being mean to anyone. i would own flesh-eating beetles. i would take pictures of deer-headed witch boys in a forest.  
> i apologize in advance for how unnecessarily long this is gonna be

Ms. Susanne Simmons- Washington to people she didn't know, Wash to her friends, Susanne to none- was incredibly busy, all the time. Especially now. She had her own job, and she had her hobbies- she especially had her hobbies. _Esp_ _ecially_ her hobby of trekking out into the woods and other such areas taking pictures of suspicious activity. Not suspicious activity like teenagers skulking, even though she was old enough to technically yell at kids to get off her lawn. No, suspicious activity like orbs. Spirits. Government conspiracies. Aliens. Roving cryptids in the woods- which was exactly what she was on the case of now. She’d gotten off work early and checked in with her roommate at one, grabbing lunch and taking her car out down the highway to her favorite hiking spot. She’d walked around for a while, followed a suspicious trail of broken branches, and taken a whole bunch of pictures. She’d texted the most suspicious ones to her little brother, who was being a complete- well, a complete Dick about it.

So now, at five in the afternoon, Wash was sitting in the corner of her brother-in-law’s bakery, tired, determined, and ready to prove to her little brother that she was right. She sifted through the pictures on her camera, legs tucked up to her chest and hiking boots propped on the edge of her chair. She was sweaty, she smelled like she did a pole-dance routine on a pine tree, she’d lost her scarf somewhere in the woods and her jacket was draped around her shoulders. Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth turned down as she searched through her camera. Blurry picture of deer, blurry picture of a bird, clear picture of a bird, blurry picture of a shed that she’d walked up to and then worked herself into a paranoid frenzy about, blurry picture of a mountain in the distance- blurry picture of the humanoid. There it was. She’d snapped the picture on one of the raised ridges off the trails. Or, rather, the subject of the photo was on the cliff. She had been huddled behind a tree, peering out from between the branches. Of course she’d been far away, there was no way she would've been able to get close without scaring whatever they were off. She'd zoomed in, picture gone grainy as the sun set, and taken four pictures in quick succession of the… cloaked, deer-headed figure. She'd need to put in the research as to what it could possibly be. Unfortunately, her brother insisted that it was nothing. He was being cagey and obnoxious about it, but that was his default state, so that wasn't the part she took offense to. Simmons just seemed like he _knew_ something that he wasn't telling her. Which, as she thought about it, could be standard-issue paranoia. But it didn't feel like it! Wash knew what paranoia felt like. This wasn't paranoia.

“I'm gonna stop giving you food if you don't eat it, sis.”

“I'm busy, Grif. And I'm not hungry.”

Grif nudged at the seat next to her and plopped down heavily, reaching over to rattle her plate. Wash couldn't stand her brother in law sometimes. He reclined, and she scowled at him. She was not going to eat what he’d given her. No way. It was free. He was a witch. He regularly drew sigils in food and enchanted it. She didn’t trust that chicken and swiss on cranberry-apple rye bread as far as she could throw its maker. Which, despite her impressive upper body strength, was not far. Grif was like a boulder. The immovable object to her unstoppable force. “Come on. You're gonna starve and you know I hate wasting food.”

“I'm busy. I found something.”

“What is it this time?”

“Don't- don't say it like that. Just look at it.” She shoved her camera off to Grif, pointing out the picture he needed to look at. He held the camera up in front of his face and adjusted his glasses. One eyebrow quirked up, and the corners of his mouth set. It looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“What are you doing that for.”

“Wash, where’d you take this?”

“It was- it was just off the highway east of here. I parked and started hiking for a few hours and came to this overlook and there it was.”

“You didn't take any of the little side-roads?”

“No? Why, do you know what this is? If you know, you have to tell me.” But Grif shook his head, handing the camera back to Wash. He was purposefully impeding her investigations. Why? Because of course he was. She slugged him in the shoulder and snatched the camera back from him, tucking it back into her bag on the floor. “Fine. I'm going to find out, you know. I'm going to- Find out what you know. You know. You know something, and I'm going to find out.”

“I know, Wash. Dick and I are taking the kids to the aquarium today, were you planning on coming?”

“What- Yes. Of course, I'll get ready, I didn't realize that was today-”

Grif patted a hand on her shoulder and started the laborious task of getting out of his seat, legs wobbling.

“Thanks. Can you eat something first, though? Seriously, there's a sandwich a foot away from your face and if you pass out on us, Dick’s gonna panic.”

Wash ran a hand through the cropped curly hair on top of her head, making it stick up even more. She pulled her bag up and set it on top of the table, wrapping her food in a napkin and cramming it into one of the pockets.

“I'll eat it on the way. Need me to help you close?”

Grif sighed out loud, visibly relieved, and nodded. Snickering, Wash helped him clear tables and set the chairs up. Grif was pretty decent, for a dirty no-good witch that ran an occult store out of his bakery. And she was related to him. And he made her little brother happy. And she liked his kids. And he _seemed_ to care about her but she couldn’t properly discern his motives with all that. She was getting a little unfocused. She stayed unfocused until she was sitting in the car with her niece and nephew, where she could pull out her camera and look at the suspicious pictures again.

Cloaked figured, deer antlers, overlooking a cliff. Arms held out in front of it- she zoomed into the bottom of the picture, squinting. Those were dots of light around its feet… Candles? Orbs?

This was something- something properly fucked up. She was going to get to the bottom of this.

* * *

 

Proper names are powerful. If you give someone your proper name, they’re privy to something personal about you. They can use it against you. Proper names will get you hurt. Locus doesn’t go by his proper name. Locus is Locus is Locus. He’s been hurt before, and he’d like to avoid it happening again. So he's just Locus. Maybe, eventually, he’ll go by a proper name again. Right now, all he needs a proper name for is his bank account and nothing else. He didn't need to give anyone that kind of power over himself. Essentially, he was doing his best to stay secretive and protect himself. He was a proper hermit in the woods, he had very few, if any, friends, he lived off his pension and he gardened and hunted and kept up all his witchcraft materials. Locus was doing just fine.

Like now, for instance. He'd packed his supplies and brushed the dust off of his deer skull and gotten all his ritual clothes aired out, then made his way up his hiking trail to the overlook behind his house. He had to hike his skirt up to his knees, trying not to get caught on branches until he got to the clearing. Scanning the area, he kneeled down on the grass to arrange his candles in a pleasing arrangement. Now, how the hell did you meditate? He lit the candles as he thought about what to do. Should he sit down? No, he'd catch his clothes on fire. Standing, then? But he'd end up tipping over, since meditation was _basically_ falling asleep. He'd take the risk. He gathered his skirt up around his legs and stepped into his circle, closing his eyes and raising his arms out in front of himself. Channeling. Breathing. Focus. He could do this. He felt the negative energy drain out of him as he relaxed, and as he opened his eyes again he felt unfocused and soft. Ambient.

Something snapped in the forest behind him. Locus blinked smoke out of his eyes. He’d heard something shuffle that pulled him out of focus, and he wasn’t going to be able to meditate now. Dammit. He gently hooked his fingers under the jawbone of the deer skull on his head, lifting it off and holding it out in front of him. He needed to figure out how to reign in his focus. He’d never get anywhere if he snapped out of trances at the slightest noise. Sighing, he knelt down to blow out his candles and dump out the melted wax, looping it into patterns on the grass as he poured it so he’d remember where to try this again. With all his supplies gathered, he trudged back towards his house. The door was propped open, the smell of lemon and rosemary hitting him in the face. He always forgot when he gave his house a scrub down, even though it was pretty obvious. Damn his oversensitive nose.

His bird was whispering from its cage, clicking its beak against one of the bars. Locus nudged the door shut with his foot, set down all his ritual materials, and crossed the room to open up the cage. The bird, who didn’t have a name so much as it had the affectionately derogatory nicknames of “carajito”, “awful baby”, and “delinquent”, haughtily bustled itself out of the cage and stretched a foot out to cling onto Locus’ hand.

“What do you want.”

The bird hung upside-down from his hand, and he sighed. His delinquent child was gently lifted onto Locus’ shoulder as he bustled himself into getting dinner ready, and started whispering again. Locus responded, “You're very badly behaved. It’s rude to tell people to die.” This did not stop the bird. It flew off its owner’s shoulder and perched on the windowsill, tapping at the glass and beginning to screech.

“You can’t go outside. You’ll get eaten. You’re just a baby.”

He peered out of the window, drawing back the curtain. Yep. That was his shed, where he kept his dermestid beetles. He had a colony for cleaning off roadkill or other bones he acquired, and he loved them, but dear God, did they smell like rotten flesh. So, the shed was their home. Currently they were picking clean a sparrow that Locus had found, missing a wing and bloodied. He did the whole burial ritual, asked if he could use the bones, thanked the bird, left an offering in the spot where he’d gotten the corpse, the whole nine yards. It was disrespectful otherwise. He’d actually found the bird a few yards away from the entrance to his shed, where-

Where a yellow striped scarf lay tangled in the roots of a tree.

Interesting.

“Awful-bird, quédate.” Locus whistled and tapped the faucet of the sink, and the bird chittered and began to hop its way over to perch there. With his baby occupied, Locus bustled himself out of the cabin, shutting the door behind him. He couldn’t think of a reason as to why a scarf would appear in his front yard. It made him a little uneasy, if he was being honest. Crossing the yard, he scooped the scarf up and wound it between his hands. It was soft and frayed on one end, like whoever owned it had been chewing on it. He caught a stray thread under his thumb, pulling the scarf tight again. Maybe a camper had lost it- but, no, it was too late in the year for campers, especially not in his neck of the woods. Vexing. Confusing. Locus didn’t like it. Could it be some kind of warning?

He thought about the scarf as he went through his nightly routine, finishing dinner and watching a movie as he kept his bird entertained. It didn’t make sense. Had someone broken in? No, he would’ve known immediately. He probably needed to start locking his doors, though. He lay in bed, hair wet from the shower and fingers drumming on his bare stomach. Sighing, he rolled over onto his side.

He’d worry about it in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking and entering is generally frowned upon.

“Oh my God, Locus.”

“What?”

“We have _two_ _fucking Reapers_ already.”

“Now we have three.”

“We need support!”

“I hear what you’re saying.”

_ “Don’t fucking switch to Widowmaker, I swear to-” _

Locus propped his feet up on his coffee table, shooing his bird away from his plate of apple chips. He was attempting to play a quick game with his friends, since he didn't have anything else to do today. He was sitting comfortably in his boxers and a ratty sweatshirt, listening to Simmons complain about team set-up, balance, all that. Locus was glad to have a hobby and a vague friend group. Witchcraft and hunting and all that was good, but it'd be terribly boring if those were the only things in his life. So sometimes he got together with his friends and played some games, chatted. It was a nice change of pace to living alone in the woods. . 

Simmons was still yelling about balance. Locus hummed in the back of his throat, nudging his headphones with his shoulder. 

“Why don't you tell Tucker to switch?”

“Because he doesn't listen to me! You're supposed to listen to me since you're actually intelligent enough to realize-”

Tucker piped up, cutting Simmons off, “Fuck off! The only reason nobody tells  _ you  _ to switch is because you're the only one that likes playing shitty support classes! Some of us enjoy the fucking game, Simmons.”

“That's not the point! The point is winning!”

Locus listened to them bicker for a moment, setting his controller down on the table and getting up to stretch. His delinquent child was dragging a chip around on top of the table, making soft little peep noises as it did. Birds. Always an adventure. He wandered into the kitchen, poking through his fridge. Grif had given him a huge Tupperware container, with dessert inside. Locus had weird cravings, so when he went to Grif with freshly-harvested herbs, Locus got to trade him for things. Earlier this week, he'd swapped four ounces of fresh rosemary and a basket of potatoes for a whole mess of rosewater pudding. He pulled the container out, turning to set it on the kitchen counter. 

As he turned, a short, blonde, freckled woman holding a camera and squatting next to his oven caught his eye. 

That was new. 

* * *

 

Wash was ready this time. She’d taken one of the side roads off into the forest, parking her car where she would remember it and starting to hike. She was prepared this time, camera ready and shoulders cooled tight. Okay, maybe prepared wasn't the right word. Maybe “tightly wound” was better. She was trying to figure out where she'd seen that shed, she remember some of the landmarks- and she could probably figure it out by following the meat smell. She just had to be on guard. Anything could happen. She really wished she'd brought more of her knives. 

But, she didn't. She only brought one. Her camera counted for something, though, right? If some deranged serial killer or something was hiding in the woods, she could overpower them and take pictures and get them convicted. She thought about that a scenario as she hiked. Could she take a serial killer? Most likely. She kicked all kinds of ass. Okay, maybe she was a little out of practice, but she could fix that, and she wouldn't get caught by surprise. She could kick ass. Definitely! She slammed her foot into a stump, swearing and fumbling her camera. Son of a bitch- Wash clutched her camera to her chest and glared at the stump. Fucker. Glancing around, she tried to figure out where she was. Alright, retracing her steps from yesterday, given that she wasn't spacing out, the shed should be on her left- yep, right there. And the cabin was a little bit beyond that. She was here. She was ready. Something fucked up was living in these woods. Some kind of dark, skeleton spirit or something. She was going to find out. She marched out towards the shed, reaching out towards the door handle, suppressing her paranoia and swallowing hard-

The shed door creaked as it opened, and she coughed at the smell. There was a dead body in here. There was definitely a dead body in here. Holy shit. She squinted into the darkness, letting her eyes adjust. There was a terrarium pushed against the back wall, with branches and little squirmy fluttering  _ things  _ in it. Okay. So she was hallucinating. She backed out of the shed and closed the door. Enough of that.

Wash crossed the yard and stood in front of the door to the cabin. Okay. There was probably not a dead body in here. She could do this. She could do this. Deep breath. She shoved the door open with her shoulder and jumped back, holding her camera out in front of her like a crucifix. Ready, aim, take a picture. Holy shit, she was so anxious at this point. When nothing jumped out at her she breathed out, and poked her head inside the cabin.  

It was nice. It was  _ surprisingly  _ nice. The kitchen was clean and painted in pastel greens and yellows, with uncurtained windows that let in natural light. It smelled nice, too. Clean, like fresh-baked bread. . Someone lived here. Someone definitely lived here, and they probably killed people and wore their skin as a warm winter jacket. Okay, no, cut that train of thought out. She needed to find out what was going on. She snuck around the island in the kitchen, poking around at the cabinets. Crouching down to eye-level with the oven, she snapped a picture of what was inside. 

She heard the fridge door shut. Someone was walking behind her. She froze, shoulders tensing. The person behind her cleared their throat. 

“You lost a scarf near here, didn’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO TIRED I AM SO BAD AT WRITING WHY CAN'T FICS JUST SPRING FULLY FORMED FROM MY MIND!!! BOY  
> im on a merc high right now and debating jsut writing a shitload of polymercs+megan fics. stop me.  
> this is short and i am dead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking and entering is frowned upon, yes. Breaking and entering, then accusing someone of being a squatter or some kind of murderer? Generally worse.

Locus hadn't wanted today to be eventful. He'd wanted to relax a little bit, play a couple video games, and take a meatloaf out of the oven. He didn't want to deal with someone breaking into his house. She was sitting at his table and fidgeting with a camera while he paced, waiting for Grif to pick up his phone. His bird was hopping across the kitchen table, gently screeching at the intruder. Figures that the little fucker wouldn’t start making noise until  _ after _ his home was invaded. Rescue a caique because they’re noisy and you need a guard bird, and the baby is only noisy when it suits them. Goddamnit. Locus was just glad that he vaguely knew who this lady was. Because of  _ course _ Simmons’ sister would be a weird home intruder. 

“Pick up, pick up…” 

The line clicked, and Simmons grumbled into the phone. “Hello?”

Locus exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your sister broke into my house.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, before Simmons spoke up again, “She- Wash wouldn't- Did she steal anything?”

“She broke into my kitchen and took a picture of my meatloaf.”

“That- No, that sounds like her. Can I talk to her?” 

Locus nodded and handed the phone off to Wash, who was red in the face and shivering. She scrubbed at her cheek, bringing the phone up to her ear and mumbling incomprehensibly. Locus whistled at his bird, tapping on the palm of his hand so it would come to stand on him. He was a little nervous. He knew that Wash  _ existed,  _ sure. But he didn't know anything about her. At all. And that was terrifying to him. He did  _ not  _ like the idea that this woman was in his house and he didn't know a damn thing about her. She was mumbling into the phone and rubbing her face, looking a little frustrated and pausing occasionally to chew on her fingertips. 

Maybe terrifying was an exaggeration. He wasn’t necessarily terrified of her. He was concerned, and didn’t like the implications of her breaking into his home, but not terrified. He just watched, tapping his fingers against the table to play with his bird as Wash talked on the phone. Nothing registered as conversation to him as he spaced out. It was odd. This was all really weird. This was a weird situation. Locus looked away, deciding the better option here would be to gently place his bird on his shoulder and go to straightening out the kitchen. 

“You live here, right?”

* * *

 

Wash traced her fingernails over the edges of the phone, staring holes into the back of this guy’s neck. She'd spoken up and was waiting for his response, hoping she had some kind of intimidation factor on her side. Realistically, it wasn't the case, what with her being on the short side, but she had to try. What was this guy's name? Her brother had told her, mentioned it… Locus, right! Locus turned slightly, making a face as his bird whapped its beak repeatedly against his nose. 

“Of course I live here.”

“So- Okay. If you live here, then you know about the weird stuff that goes on in the woods?”

Locus was quiet for a few moments, then turned away from Wash again. 

“There's not anything odd in the woods.”

Well, that was a goddamn lie. Wash set her camera on the table and tried to cycle through all of her pictures, trying to find the ones with that bizarre humanoid. When she pulled up the proper folder, she cleared her throat and sat up straighter. 

“Well, then come look at  _ these _ and explain them.”

Locus’ shoulders dropped and he tilted his head back, groaning. What an ass. Here she was, trying to prove the existence of something that was very, very real, and he was being a shitty baby about it. She waited for him to turn around and sit down, then jammed her camera at him and started cycling through the pictures. He looked confused as she talked and explained all her photos, and on more than a few he coughed nervously. Dammit, this man  _ knew  _ something, and he wasn’t talking. She elbowed him roughly in the side, pointing at her camera. 

“If you know something, you have to tell me. You- You’re probably squatting here, I could call the police, or. Something. I could.” 

Locus winced, moving his chair away from Wash. The bird on his shoulder made a careful journey down his arm and onto the table, the both of them watching as it started traipsing along the surface and whispering. It seemed to distract Locus, who had to shake his head and focus back onto Wash. 

“Two things. I know the owner of this house. They let me live here. You can’t call the police. _ I _ could, though. Since you’re breaking and entering.”

“I’m not- Okay. Fine. What’s the second thing.” 

“Every single picture you have is explainable.”

“Bullshit.” Wash squared her shoulders, eyebrows furrowed heavily downwards. She jabbed a finger at Locus. She had to get his story. Something was up with this fucking guy. She knew. She knew there was something up. "If it's explainable, then do it. Explain."

“They’re all of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am. Tire.d. i'm trying to write more but i'm pulling 20+ hour weeks at work on top of school. sorry none of my fics update regularly. this is short and unbetad and really i just want to get to the fun parts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes fate smiles upon those who intrude into other's homes.

Wash was pacing in Locus’ living room, working a track into the carpet. Her hands were in her hair, pulling at the roots and contorting her face into a shocked stare with raised eyebrows. Locus sat on the couch, legs drawn up and Wash’s camera resting on his knees. He flicked through the pictures she had again. Okay, so he had to give the lady some credit. They were very well taken, at least the ones that weren’t far-away shots of him canoodling around in the forest. Glancing up, he watched as Wash paced.

"No, okay, no, I refuse to believe that you- Of all people- There’s something out there, okay? There’s always something out there. I’m not. I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You’re implying it!”

“I’m sorry. You’re not crazy. Look, come here.” He shifted on the couch, patting the seat beside him. Wash stopped, eyes wide in a frozen deer-in-the-headlights look. It took her a moment, but she sat down, palms pressed together and squished between her thighs. Locus was distracted, for a moment, looked back at Wash’s face. No, that wouldn’t work, she had too much thick, curly blonde hair falling over her cheeks. Goddamnit. Okay. He looked down at the camera, pointing at it.

"See, I- It’s something I do. That’s me. I was meditating. Look,” He tapped the camera, drawing Wash’s attention to one of the pictures. He was pointing at one of the outstretched arms and the brown blob attached to it. “That’s my hand. You can tell, because of...” He mumbled, trailed off, stretching his fingers and displaying the sigils he’d inked into his knuckles.

“God- You’re kidding. Goddamnit. Goddamnit, I thought I had something.”

“No, that's- It's not that there's nothing out there. It's just that all these pictures are me. So this specifically is nothing.”

Wash puffed out her cheeks, winding her fingers through her hair and tugging. It seemed to take her a moment to process, but she nodded. Her shoulders slumped a bit, and she seemed a little less tense.

“Okay. So, if you're in all these pictures, that doesn't disprove anything except that, these aren't anything. Okay? No, that doesn't make sense-”

“No, I understand.”

Locus nodded and laced his fingers together, picking under his fingernails. He did understand where she was coming from. It sucked to have something you worked especially hard for invalidated. He could relate to that. What was he doing, he was spacing out. Focus, again. Wash had taken her camera back and was alternating looking between it and him. Locus cleared his throat. 

“Would you want to get lunch sometime.”

* * *

 

Wash recoiled, eyebrows shooting up into her hairline. That was wrong. That wasn't supposed to happen. She couldn't go out with someone. Especially not someone so handsome and rugged and. A man. She couldn't go out with a man. That was not going to be okay for her.

“You- Like, a romantic lunch? I can't do that.”

“Um. No. No, that's. No. I’m sorry. Just a normal lunch. You seem like an interesting person, and if you'd like. We could get lunch sometime.”

“Oh.” Wash twisted her hands together and looked down. Just a normal lunch. Okay. She could do that. Friends weren't exactly something she had in abundance. Talking was something she could do.

"That sounds good.”

* * *

 

“Wash, let me- Let me get this straight. Okay. Okay.” Simmons took a deep breath, cupping his hands over his mouth. “You broke into some guy’s house. Because you thought he was Bigfoot.”

"No! No, I just. I broke into his house because I thought the house was empty.”

“So rustic exploration. Great. I'm not- I’m not done, Wash. You broke into his house, and you- Now you have a date? With him. The guy whose house you broke into.”

Wash shrugged. She had her hands stuffed deep into her pockets, probably fidgeting with one of her spinner rings.

“I mean, you're my little brother, so I don't see why you feel the need to lecture me.”

"I'm not lecturing. I've never lectured anyone.”

“You're lecturing right now.”

Simmons opened his mouth for a rebuttal. And he closed it again. Dammit, he kind of was lecturing. He started pacing in front of the couch where Wash was sitting. This was weird. He was the little brother, he didn't want to police Wash. Why was he doing it, then? He could just. Not. He could go to bed and wish her luck on her date. He half-wished that their childhood had been some semblance of normal so he could figure out if this was weird. Was it weird? It felt weird. He felt anxious. He wanted to go to bed, really. Pulling a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath and tried to spool out the tension from his shoulders.

“When are you going out?”

Wash shrugged, stretching her legs out and pulling her hands out of her pocket. She studied her fingernails, and Simmons watched as she dug her thumb into the meat of her palm to steady the tremors in her hands.

“We’re grabbing lunch on Friday.”

“Do you need a ride?”

"I'm a grown-ass man, I'll drive myself.” She blinked, eyebrows furrowed as she looked down at her hands again. “Did I-”

“You did. I understand. Uh, your prescription came in?”

“I was going to get that when I came home-”

“Yeah, I get it, I was just picking up- I had a couple of my own to grab, it's all good. You going home any time soon?”

Wash shrugged again, sinking down further into the couch. And Simmons nodded, still tugging his hands through his hair. He really, really wishes they could just be two normal people. This whole thing sucked. He nodded again, catching his lip between the teeth and digging in. 

"Hey, good luck."

"Thanks, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck I am. actually enjoying writing at the moment. I may even update tfcc? Holy Christ. I'm on a roll boys. sorry for any formatting errors, im posting this on mobile. Sorry if there's any UH character errors? I may be on a roll but I'm also! Bad at writing.

**Author's Note:**

> grif is a kitchen witch, he suffers every day because of his terrible horrible christian-aligned husband and sister in law who suspect him of devil worship because he sells fancy rocks and bread that he chants over  
> locus is a green witch/necromancer???? he works with dead things and has a huge fucking herb garden. he's mostly just tired. he's a vet but he's not really happy bout it. also he loves his bird and his beetles and he talks to them all the time they are his babies.  
> wash is Definitely just tired. she goes cryptid hunting and is an avid conspiracy theorist who has a lot of backing because she's ex-special-ops just like locus!  
> idk what else to say about this tbh?? uh  
> my tumblr is locus-hocus-pocus and yes this fic was mostly inspired by that singular phrase don't judge me


End file.
